


nothing good's ever come out of utah

by SerpentineJ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: "This is your base of operations?" Crowley says incredulously. "This place is a shithole.""Wow, you're right." Sam says sarcastically. "We should have bought out the penthouse just for you, Crowley.""It does have a bigger bed, Moose," Crowley says, voice laced with innuendo, waggling his eyebrows at Sam. Sam scoffs and looks away.





	nothing good's ever come out of utah

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I didnt really know what i wanted to do w this aside from a) Fbi agent castiel b) cross-state detective winchesters and c) ci crowley but god do I love a good au
> 
> Rewatching s9 made me really want to write some mooseley and destiel but on the other hand god am I lazy

"Dean?" Sam says, looking over his shoulder at his brother, who is laid out over the bed. "It's ten AM, don't you think it's time to-"

"Jesus, Sammy." Dean mutters. "Let a man sleep in once, please."

Sam makes a huffing noise and returns to his laptop, keys clacking. 

"Do we have anything new on this case dispatch gave us?" Dean asks after a moment, pushing the pillow off his head. "Seems pretty specific. Crazy like this doesn't just strike once."

Sam shrugs.

"I mean, yeah," he says, "there's a precedent in this town- they found a body the other day of a man, mid 30's, offed in the bedroom of his house in the suburbs the same way our vic was." Sam grimaces. "Looks like he didn't have any relatives, so they didn't find him until the neighbors called in about the newspapers piling up on his doorstep, and they found him, a week old at least."

Dean wrinkles his nose.

"Exact same MO?" He asks. "Like, socks in the mouth, noose tied up to the headboard, hands taped to the sides-"

"Feet tied crossed together, throat slit? Yeah." Sam finishes. "Think it's a serial?"

Dean groans.

"Guess we'll find out," he says, rolling over on the bed, on the cheap, scratchy motel sheets, digging around on the bedside table for his phone. He flips it open, and hits the third number on his speed dial.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Cas?" Dean says.

Sam lowers his brow again.

"Busy?" Dean says. "Yeah, Bobby over at dispatch tipped us off to a weird homicide in Utah, turns out it might be a serial. Hear any Fed chatter about one who likes to put his vics in a noose and tie 'em to the headboard?"

A pause.

"Mmm." Another pause. "Yeah. Really? Okay, see you."

He snaps his phone shut.

"Cas says they'll be here tonight," Dean says, shaking his head. "Damn Fed resources. Is that where my federal tax money's going?"

Sam snorts a laugh.

"Anyways, keep digging," Dean mutters, hefting himself off the bed. "I'm gonna-"

"Get some fresh air, yeah." Sam says, waving him off.

"Actually, I need to set up another meeting." Dean grunts, pulling his jacket on, popping his phone open again and hitting the fourth number on his speed dial.

"With who?" Sam frowns, typing pausing for a minute.

Dean rolls his eyes, raises his hand for pause, balances the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder to rifle in his pockets, presumably, for his wallet.

"Crowley?" He says, and Sam tenses, exhales a dispirited groan. "Yeah, save it, I need some info. Any chance you're in the Salt Lake City suburbs area?"

~~~~~~

"God damnit." Sam mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And we're working with Crowley... why, again?"

"He's my CI, Sam." Dean says. "Buck up. He's a lowlife douchebag, but any major crime happens between the coasts, he'll know about it."

"Yeah, don't underestimate the power of a drug kingpin," Sam says under his breath.

"Aw, you're gonna hurt my feelings, Moose, you great lout," a voice comes from behind them, and both brothers jump.

Dean scowls.

"Jesus, Crowley." He hisses. "How many times have I told you."

Crowley, looking fascinatingly authoritarian for a man a head shorter than Sam with thinning hair and a Scottish accent, smirks at them with his hands in his pockets.

"Hello, boys." He says.

"Shut up, Crowley." Sam replies, almost on instinct, forcing his expression into something unbothered as the man turns his full gaze onto him. 

"Must you always be so cruel?" Crowley says, that tilt of his lips never disappearing, shifting back to Dean in a moment. "Is there a reason you and the great lump have asked me here, when I could be enjoying a good steak with a fantastic vintage in a private jet, instead of standing in bloody Utah-"

"Have you heard anything about a serial in the area?" Dean interrupts, with his usual amount of sympathy for Crowley's constant plights.

Crowley rolls his eyes.

"There's a dozen serials in the Southwest at any given time, darling." He says. "Because no one wants to live in the fucking Southwest. It's boring. No wonder people go nuts down here."

Sam snorts. Crowley glares at him.

"Okay, but a specific serial." Dean presses, pulling a manila folder out of his jacket, pushing it at Crowley. Crowley takes it and flips through the photos. His eyebrows crawl up his forehead.

Sam eyes him.

"Now you've caught my interest, Dean." Crowley says, closing the folder again, handing it back, replacing his hands in his pockets. "Alright. I'm in."

Sam blinks.

"Wait." He says. "In?"

"In on the case." Crowley grins, and for a moment, Sam is reminded of some cocky, predatory animal. "This serial happens to have offed a very good lieutenant of mine in Alabama, so I'm inclined to hold a grudge."

Dean considers him.

"Fine." He says. "Fine, you're in on the case, if the drug underworld can spare you for a week."

"What!" Sam almost shouts, whirling on his brother. "Dean, he's-"

"A criminal, a bastard, blah, blah, blah." Crowley waves a hand. "Yes, I know, can we move on."

Sam grumbles. 

"He has information, Sam." Dean mutters. "You, me, Cas and Crowley? This serial's pissed off a lot of people, apparently."

"Wait, did I hear that correctly?" Crowley says, cocking his head for emphasis, raising a hand to cup his ear. "The angelic Boy-Scout-turned-FBI-Agent's in on this mess too?"

Dean shrugs.

"Apparently this guy caused some trouble on the East coast a couple years ago." He says. "The Feds want him, my bosses want him, the Devil drug cartel wants him-"

"This guy's as good as locked up." Crowley smiles, clapping his hands together. "Now, shall we? I assume you have a base of operations?"

~~~~~~

"This is your base of operations?" Crowley says incredulously. "This place is a shithole."

"Wow, you're right." Sam says sarcastically. "We should have bought out the penthouse just for you, Crowley."

"It does have a bigger bed, Moose," Crowley says, voice laced with innuendo, waggling his eyebrows at Sam. Sam scoffs and looks away. 

"Should I leave the room? Give you two some privacy?" Dean says, already digging through a box of papers looking for the notes he had taken the other day interviewing some of the family members of the original victims. "Or can we actually get some work done?"

"You're just jealous because your Mr. Right's still in the air," Crowley says, and Dean chucks a roll of tape at him. He dodges without even pulling his hands out of his pockets.

"Jesus." Sam groans. "Can I shoot him."

"He's been here ten minutes," Dean mutters distractedly. "I hate him too, but don't shoot my CI."

"I'm hurt, Moose." Crowley places a hand over where his heart would be if it weren't replaced by a black hole of sex, drink, and other types of hedonism. "Thought you and I had a real connection, after Detroit."

"If you keep bringing up Detroit, I will smash your head in like a pumpkin, no matter what my brother says," Sam threatens.

"Love it when you get all tough." Crowley smirks, narrows his eyes suggestively. 

Dean pushes the open laptop towards the middle of the desk.

"Put your junk away for two minutes, guys." He says. "Cas sent the case files from the other possible serial killings over secure email."

"Bet their sexting is more intimate," Crowley mutters.

"Shut up, Crowley." Sam growls, even as they both lean simultaneously over the laptop.

~~~~~~

It takes hours of digging through possible killings by this guy, who Crowley has un-affectionately dubbed the Hanging Man, to sort through them into a computerized pile of those that could be attributed to him and those that seem like more of a reach than not. From this, Sam begins to string together a timeline- it's hard going, because the killings are months, if not years apart, for a possible career spanning more than 10 years with a total of 14 killings. 

"Alright." Dean leans back in his chair, scrubs his palms over his eyes. "I gotta go pick the FBI up from the airport, I'll be back in a couple hours." He points at Crowley, then Sam. "Behave."

"I'm not a bloody dog," Crowley calls after him.

"Shut up, Crowley." Sam mutters.

"Up yours, Moose," Crowley replies, and Sam throws a peanut at him. Crowley kicks him under the table. 

"Jesus." Sam hisses, grabbing his calf. "What are you, five?"

"Older and more experienced than you," Crowley snarks, flicking a rude hand symbol in Sam's general direction, typing with the other. "You know, with Mr. Tall, Blue-Eyed and Socially Awkward in the room with your brother, we'll be the odd ones out, right?"

"You don't have to tell me," Sam mutters. "Cas once let slip about the 'deeper bond' he and Dean share."

"Christ." Crowley says. "Think they've done the deed yet?"

Sam makes a face.

"Do you take pleasure in making the people around you seriously uncomfortable?" He grimaces, eyes trained on his work.

"Only if it's you, poppet," Crowley croons, "because you respond so nicely-"

"One of these days, I'm actually going to kill you." Sam mutters.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE:   
> Notes abt this au: cas is an fbi agent who was assigned to one of the cases sam and dean were investigating, ended up working with dean to uncover corruption within the bureau's ranks, was slated for a promotion but wanted to remain an investigator so they made hannah his boss- his partner is balthazar.
> 
> Crowley is the kingpin of the largest drug-running ring in the states. He's a douchebag but has a fondness for winchesters, especially when they're granting him situational immunity, especially when sam twists his hips a little like so when walking... ;0
> 
> Sam and dean are government-funded cross-state detective liasons, like private investigators, who investigate weird crimes and shit. They caught their parent's murderer a while ago, but stuck in the business. Bobby is their dispatch handler.
> 
> [tumblr](http://kimishitaatsushi.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](http://twitter.com/romanevikov/)


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